


All That Fighting, All That Snow

by heretogay



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: Angst, F/F, I wrote this drunk at 4am, I'm sorry this is bitter af, You won't find a happy ending here, a lil smut, break-up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 03:36:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9416717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heretogay/pseuds/heretogay
Summary: Misty and Cordelia aren't together anymore, but they have bitter, emotional, angry sex against a wall. Misty's POV.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So the premise is that Cordelia did something - I don't even know what for sure, I'd say cheating but you guys would hate me - that lead into her and Misty's breaking up, and now, months after, Misty is visiting the academy (let's say she was invited to some party by Zoe for all I care, it's not really of relevance why). I listened to 'Berlin' by RY X while writing, hence the title. So here, have this short ooc piece of hell I came up with.

Her hands were desperate. Desperate to pull me as close to her as possible, desperate to feel every inch of my body and grasp my very soul. She searched for my eyes. Hers were anguished, full of pain, yet I refused to meet her gaze. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.

 

I spun us around, now forcefully pushing her backward, not really caring how she grunted in protest as her head hit the wall. I bit her lower lip and she hissed in response, kissing me even more fervently while she tugged my wild hair back hard enough to make me wince at the sharp pain. That’s what this was; both of us attempting to hide the want; to hurt each other, without admitting how much our bodies, our minds, our hearts, actually craved for each other’s touch. Would she give in eventually? I knew she thought I would. But I wouldn’t.

 

I felt the taste of her blood in my mouth as her hands frantically roamed my body. I felt disgusted – hated myself for being so weak – succumbing to her touch and pressed my hips against hers. My mind was spinning, clouded with lust, but I couldn’t shake the voice in my head that was screaming and begging for me to stop. This was all wrong but I couldn’t bring myself to tear my body away from hers.

 

Our foreheads were pressed together while we took deep breaths between even deeper kisses, and her eyes were trying to reach mine again. I could tell she wanted to hear me say the words, to confess my love, love that I wasn’t sure was there anymore. To apologize for leaving her, to beg for her to take me back, though we both knew it was her who should do the begging. She was whimpering now, wordlessly demanding my touch like it was the next best thing she could have from me.

 

My hand, that was grabbing her breast, moved down to dip beneath her waistband and I heard her breath hitch in my ear. She clung to my shoulders as if her life depended on it, and readily accepted my harsh, exploring fingers.

 

She was wet. If it wasn’t for this situation I would’ve told her that, because she loved hearing me say it. I couldn’t recall how we ended up here, in her room with the door locked, pressed against the wall while everyone else was downstairs enjoying the party, blissfully ignorant of the raging storm that we embodied. What I did remember were her eyes, darkened with bitterness and craving simultaneously, that kept meeting mine every so often in the crowd that now was the coven, for the first time in months after my moving back to my swamp. Before I had known what was happening, I had followed her upstairs. I thought I had stopped caring, stopped thinking about her and had closure, but the way my treacherous body sought to touch and to be touched by her made me doubt otherwise. Yet, I hated her, hated how she made me feel like I was burning, a thousand times worse than when my own family had burned me alive at the stake.

 

“Misty, I-“

 

“Shut up.” I spat, before her apologetic voice could even fully reach my impaired consciousness, and I slid my fingers into her slick folds. I could feel her hot, heavy breath against my neck as her short nails clawed at my shoulders and upper back, probably leaving red marks in their wake.

 

I twisted my eyes shut as if to run away from her, from what we were doing. Despite my inner conflict, I couldn’t stop myself and I bit her collarbone as I plunged two fingers inside her. With every thrust her back slammed against the wall and she wailed in both pain and pleasure, her hips undulating to seek more contact with my hand.

 

I hated how she moaned, how she made me feel this way. I was practically seething and ground my body into hers while fucking her with a punishing rhythm. The way she sounded had me wondering if this was the way she had always wanted me to take her but had never dared to admit it, shy as she was sometimes.

 

“M-Misty…”

 

“Shut up or I’ll stop” I threatened. It was bad enough to be like this with her again, to be close to her; I didn’t want to hear her words, as well. I didn’t want my name to flow out of those lips I had loved so much.

 

She kept her mouth shut but whimpered instead, and I could feel her walls starting to clench around my fingers. She kissed and stroked the back of my neck so tenderly it made me sick. I felt my throat close up and tears spring to the corners of my eyes as I delivered the last thrust that made her fall over the edge.

 

In the aftermath, I ended up breathing just as heavily as she, both of us leaning in to each other for support. I wasn’t in a state coherent enough to acknowledge how much time had passed but now I felt hot tears on my shoulder, too. She was shuddering and clinging to me for dear life, refusing to let go, wanting to pretend I was still hers just a while longer. How did we end up like this again?

 

Eventually I sobered up and couldn’t take it any longer, so I gently removed her arms from around me, and took a step back, still not meeting her troubled gaze with mine. She was fully crying now, and my heart broke for her. And because of her.

 

She kept facing the floor and choked out, “I love you and you know it.”

 

Weirdly enough, nothing could’ve prepared me for the tidal wave of raw emotion that swept over me. I knew coming in today that she would be here, that she would affect me somehow whether I wanted it or not, but hearing her say the words made me want to scream at her. God, how I wish she hadn’t said them. This would all be so much easier.

 

I finally did it: I looked at her, straight in her teary, almost-black eyes. And she looked at me. I could’ve sworn she flinched slightly, seeing the hate, the conflict, the hurt, in my cold, blue eyes.

 

“I know” I said, eerily calm.

 

I could tell she had caught the finality in my words. I didn’t stay for long to witness her defeated state, instead turning to the door to walk out the room, out of the house. Out of her life.  


End file.
